


fly away, lovely akuma

by vivific (V_fics)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Butterfly Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Cat Nino Lahiffe, Emilie Agreste Lives, Friendship, Gabriel Agreste Is Not Hawk Moth, Gen, Ladybug Alya Césaire, No Romance, The Order of the Guardians (Miraculous Ladybug), original lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:39:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_fics/pseuds/vivific
Summary: Alya has always wanted to be a superhero. Nino never has.Gabriel knows there's a fine line between heroism and villainy. Marinette won't look before she crosses.





	fly away, lovely akuma

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> [art by ecxocotoo](https://ecxocotoo.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> uh... if you read my other original lore stuff, this will sound familiar haha... Basically: The Order of the Guardians have a "Lineage", aka seven families who inherited one of the main Miraculous. Gabriel is the descendant of the Butterfly holder while Fu descends from the Turtle. The Butterfly Miraculous is attached to many liaisons (the white butterflies), and have a telepathic connection.
> 
>  
> 
> By the way, this fic is going to allude to something that requires a content warning. It's not explicitly detailed, it's very lightly referenced and discussed, but it is a significant part of a certain character's backstory. I don't want to tag it because spoilers, but .
> 
> Special thanks to paladinofandoms, lemonbutterjam, and the MAS for proofreading!

“Maman, please stop it, I’m not prepping for a shoot.”

“You can mess it up on the way there, then, just give me this one moment. Now, walk down the steps.”

“Maman, this is the exact opposite of a candid shot!”

Nathalie kept her face perfectly neutral as the Agreste son put on a charming smile nonetheless, and strode down the steps. He was dressed in casual fashion, but his poise and calculated movements betrayed his professionalism. Several metres on the landing, his mother, the renowned photographer, actress, and model herself Emilie Agreste, slid gracefully across the floor as she took pictures. The woman was beaming with every motion, and Nathalie couldn’t help the quirking of her own lips at her enthusiasm.

It was a long time coming, but today was Adrien Agreste’s first day attending public school.

“Okay, maman, I think that’s enough shots,” said the boy. His facial expressions were pulled in a jovial laugh, but his voice gave away his exasperation. “Seriously, you’re gonna make me late.”

“It’s your first day,” Emilie waved aside the concern and gestured for the boy to move again. “They won’t mind.”

“I do,” Adrien said, the tone of his voice contrasting sharply with his content body language. “I don’t want to show up late and miss out on making friends. Besides, Chloé’s probably waiting to introduce me to everyone.”

Emilie gave a dramatic sigh and pulled the camera from her face.

“Oh, fine,” she said, pulling the lanyard from around her neck. Nathalie stepped forward to take the camera before Emilie’s arm had even reached out to her. “Come give your mother a hug before you go.”

Nathalie backed away, as the son leapt down the stairs and into his mother’s arms. She kissed his forehead and ruffled the hair she’d previously combed through meticulously.

“If anything goes wrong, just tell me,” she said to him. The boy blushed and shook his head.

“Maman! I’m not a child,” he protested, pulling away slightly. His words had no bite to them. “I can handle myself.”

“You’ll always be my child, though,” Emilie said fondly, and patted down his hair with a smile.

The boy relaxed, and he smiled back.

“Thanks, maman. It’s nice to know you care.”

Click!

“Oh, my apologies,” Nathalie said in a monotone, eyeing the screen of the camera. “My hand must have slipped.”

Emilie and Adrien stared at her, then back to each other, before breaking into laughter.

Nathalie allowed herself one smile, and took another shot.

The camera was the highest quality for its portability, Nathalie knew, but no amount of posing and lighting adjustments could truly emulate the love between a parent and child.

“All right,” Emilie gave her son another kiss. “You should leave now. Pierre’s up front waiting for you with your things.”

Adrien grinned. “Thanks maman, I’ll see you later.”

The woman guided him to the front door, and Nathalie cut before them to open it. They watched as Adrien descended the steps towards the silver car parked at the end of the path. The driver stepped out in time to open the door for the boy, gave the two women standing at the mansion entrance a thumbs up, and slipped behind the wheel. Emilie waved, and though they couldn’t see through the tinted windows, they knew Adrien was waving back. Finally, the car started and turned around the driveway for the iron gates.

“Am I supposed to feel this sad?” Emilie asked, as the gates shut behind them and the car went out of sight. “Is that normal?”

Nathalie smiled placatingly at her. “Yes, ma’am, that’s normal.”

Emilie took a deep breath and let it out audibly.

“Okay,” she said clapping her hands together. She turned on her heel and Nathalie shut the door. “I suppose I should get to work on the rest of today’s schedule, right?”

Nathalie’s tablet teleported to her hands.

“Yes, you have a video meeting with Madame Bourgeois in two hours, a meeting with Senator Hume at 14h, deRose will be driving you, and…”

 

Alya Césaire was what many would call a social butterfly. She was good at engaging with people, getting to know them and forming friendships, and sad as she had been to leave behind her friends at her old school in Toulouse, she was excited to make new ones in Paris.

She stood in front of the main building of Francoise Dupont. The grand doors were propped open and inside, she could see the crowds of students milling around the interior courtyard. She couldn’t tell which ones were new like her, and which ones were the older years reconnecting after a summer apart. Nevertheless, she took a deep breath and walked in.

Her schedule had assigned her to the class of one Caline Bustier, which she found was located on the second level of the school. She could see into the classroom through glass windows, and took a moment to examine her classmates.

There was still ten minutes to the bell, and it was obvious most of the class hadn’t settled in yet. A few people were sat apart from each other, headphones in their ears and very clearly alone, but there were some groups clustered together and talking amiably, one a group of girls and another a group of guys. Alya turned for the door and entered, sitting herself down by a group of girls, and began unpacking her things. Behind her, the girls were discussing the collèges they’d come from.

“Me, Rose, and Juleka are from Marie Catherine d’Aulnoy,” a pink-haired girl said in a gruff voice. “I think we’re the only ones in this class beside Ivan over there,” she gestured to the group of guys. “And you?”

“I’m from René Barjavel,” a girl in a pink headband said, picking at her locks nervously. “I know Kim, Max, and Nathaniel are in this class but I don’t know them all that well.”

“Well you don’t have to, it’s not like you gotta be friends with them because you come from the same school,” the pink-haired girl replied. Rose and Juleka gave affirming hums. “Hey!”

Alya felt a hand tap at her shoulder. She turned around. The pink-haired girl had draped herself over the table to reach her.

“What school you from?” she asked bluntly, but not unkindly.

“I’m from Toulouse,” she said, turning around fully. “I just moved here over the summer.”

The girl slid back into her seat. “Toulouse, huh?” She wasn’t judgemental.

“Oh, I’ve heard it’s a very nice city,” the blonde girl with a bob cut said, her eyes shining. “Do you like Paris, uh…”

“Alya,” she smiled. “You can call me Alya.”

“Nice to meetcha, Alya,” the pink-haired girl grinned. “I’m Alix. That’s Mylène, Rose, and Juleka.”

Alya gave a quick wave and they waved back with smiles.

“Paris is nice,” she said, “it’s much more busy and crowded than Toulouse, but it’s really cool.”

“Good to hear you’re settling in well, then,” Alix said. “Must suck to be new to everything in lycée, though.”

“Yeah,” Alya shrugged. “But everything’s all new and exciting so,” she smiled, “it’s not all bad.”

“Don’t worry too much,” Rose said gently, “I’m sure we’ll all fit in just fine!”

“Yeah,” Juleka whispered beside her.

“Oh no,” Mylène said, eyes fixed behind Alya.

“What oh?” Alya asked, before a hand slammed onto her desk.

“Excuse me, you’re in our seat,” a sickly sweet voice spoke.

Alya breathed in sharply and turned to meet a blonde in the starkest neon yellow jacket she’d ever seen. The girl had her hair up in a ponytail and was smiling unconvincingly at her. A few steps behind her was a boy who looked like he’d stepped right out of a catalogue.

Alya looked around the seat. It was empty, besides her own belongings.

“Sorry, I didn’t see any of your stuff on it when I came in,” she said calmly. She was all too familiar with what was going to happen.

The girl sniffed and her arms locked in front of her chest. Her smile wavered, and the glare in her eyes became a bit more obvious.

“Listen, it’s the first day so I’ll be nice,” she said, everything in her expression conveying the opposite. “I am Chloé Bourgeois, does that name ring a bell?”

Alya blinked.

“Nope,” she said honestly.

Chloé’s smile twitched.

“My father is Mayor André Bourgeois,” she said stiffly.

Alya was beginning to understand this girl. Someone of her status should be annoying people in a private school or something. She clenched her jaw.

“Congrats,” she said, “but here you’re just another student. I’m not letting you kick me out of _my_ seat because your dad’s the mayor. Find somewhere else to sit.”

She turned back to the group of girls, long enough to see their eyes go wide at her. Alya hoped it was from her bravado.

Chloé exploded.

“How dare you?!” she demanded, nearly blowing Alya’s eardrum out. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Alya sighed and turned back to her. The girl’s face was blooming an unpleasant shade of red and she’d abandoned all pretence of nicety. The argument had caught the attention of just about everyone present in class, except for two kids with their headphones stuck over their ears.

“The name’s Alya,” she said calmly. “I moved from Toulouse over the summer so I don’t know the politics of Paris all that well. I don’t know how people treated you in your old school, but in mine we tried to be respectful to others and we don’t throw around our parents’ weight. They’re just seats, so please leave me alone and find somewhere else, cool?”

Chloé opened her mouth to object, when her head jerked to the other end of the row. By the windows to the outside of the building, the boy who had been standing behind her was speaking to the lone girl sitting there. She had been one of the two students who’d ignored the argument, but her earphones were hanging around her neck as she stared up at the blond in confusion.

“You’re friends with Chloé, aren’t you?” Alya heard her murmur, just before Chloé stormed across the aisle and jerked the blond back.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the blonde snapped, slamming her hand down beside the girl. “What are you doing here?”

The girl, Marinette, looked up at her with a neutral expression.

“Well, I live in this neighbourhood, Francoise Dupont is known for its Arts courses, so I’m attending this school,” she said concisely.

“I was just asking if Marinette would mind moving next to Alya so we could sit here instead,” the boy said behind Chloé.

The blonde huffed. “Well, that is a good alternative. All right, get lost Dupain-Cheng, we’re sitting here.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Chloé popped her hip to the side. “You need to speak more clearly, Marinette.”

“I said ‘no’,” Marinette replied, her jaw set. “I’m not moving.”

“Fine,” Chloé huffed. “Sabrina!”

A red-headed girl who’d been sitting alone stood and made her way over. Alya’s heart rose to her throat. They weren’t going to—

“Move already!” Chloé demanded, as Sabrina grabbed Marinette by the shoulders and attempted to pull her out of the seat. The girl braced herself against the desk, refusing to be budged.

“Chloé,” the boy said softly.

“Relax, Adrichou, I got this,” she said.

“Come on,” Sabrina grunted, tugging Marinette’s hand from the back of the seat. “We’ve been through this before.”

“Let _go_ of me!”

Marinette’s freed hand slammed against Sabrina’s chest and sent her flying backward. She stumbled, lost her balance, and hit the back of her head against the adjacent table.

Chloé gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. Sabrina slid to the floor with a cry, her hands clutching the back of her head. The boy dropped to the floor and tilted her head forwards.

“She’s fine,” he called out, “she’s not bleeding. Are you okay?”

“Look at what you did, you freak!” Chloé snarled, turning on Marinette. The girl had frozen, her face blank. “You really _are_ cursed!”

“What on earth is going on here?!”

A woman stalked into the classroom, bright red hair tucked into a bun, and rushed over to Sabrina.

“Marinette hit Sabrina,” Chloé said immediately.

“She was trying to pull me out of my seat,” Marinette said, her voice dull, almost apathetic.

The teacher said something she probably wasn’t allowed to say in a room full of students, and she shooed the blond boy aside to check over Sabrina.

“All right, I want all of your names and then I’m sending you to the principal’s office,” she said sternly, helping the girl to her feet. “I can’t believe this, the day hasn’t even started yet and you’re already getting into fights. You’re not collègiennes anymore!”

“Madame— er… Professeur,” Alya found herself saying. “Chloé did start it. She was trying to move—”

“I don’t care who started it,” the teacher interrupted. “You shouldn’t retaliate like this. What’s your name?”

“But I—”

“Your name, mademoiselle,” the teacher repeated.

Alya’s shoulders slumped.

“Alya Césaire,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” she said, then turned to Marinette. “And yours?”

The girl stared back, unmoving.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Chloé supplied. “And the girl she hit is Sabrina Raincomprix.”

“She didn’t hit her on purpose,” Alya snapped. “Sabrina grabbed her first!”

“That’s enough!” The teacher snapped. “Césaire, Dupain-Cheng, Bourgeois, Agreste, you four are to go to the principal’s office right now while I bring Raincomprix to the infirmary.”

The classroom burst into hushed whispering.

“Did she just say ‘Agreste’?”

“I thought he looked familiar.”

“Ugh, of course he’s friends with Bourgeois.”

The teacher ignored the murmuring and stared down the four students.

“Now, please,” she ordered.

Alya glanced at the group of girls. They were all stunned quiet. Alix gave a mouthed ‘what the fuck?’ and Alya rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. God damn it.

What a perfect way to start her lycée days.

 

They all walked separately, with a berth between them, except for Agreste and Bourgeois, who stood together muttering. Alya wanted desperately to check on Dupain-Cheng, to feel some sort of companionship in this punishment, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and face not only her but the two blonds behind them.

Alya forced herself to unclench her fists. It would be fine, they could just explain what had happened, how it was Bourgeois’ fault to begin with, and Dupain-Cheng was only defending herself from Sabrina.

She pushed open the door to the office and met with a secretary, who looked up and frowned at the group.

“Can I help you?” she prompted.

“There was a fight,” Alya said before Bourgeois could alter the narrative. “This girl was trying to force Marinette out of her seat and—”

“She hit Sabrina!” Chloé pointed at the tearful girl. “She could have cracked her head open!”

“Chloé—” Agreste started.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” the secretary said. “Sit down and wait _quietly_ while I call the vice principal. You can explain this to her.”

Alya looked around at the row of chairs against the wall and pressed her lips together. She settled in the one at the far end by the corner of the room. Dupain-Cheng took the other set of chairs against the adjacent wall, but Bourgeois wasn’t going to be dismissed so easily.

“Sabrina is a dear friend of mine,” she began, “I don’t think my father would be happy to hear such an assault occurred at this school, especially not when she could have easily hit me. I want Dupain-Cheng and Césaire expelled!”

The secretary blinked blankly. “All right, how about you sit down and tell that to the VP. She’ll be free shortly.”

“Do you _know_ who my father is?!” Chloé repeated. “I want the principal down here right now, or I’m calling my father to pull all funding for this school!”

“Chloé,” Agreste was smiling, amused by his friend’s antics, “I can’t attend this school with you if it goes broke, let’s just sit down.”

Chloé huffed and crossed her arms, turning on her heel and sitting in one of the chairs. “We’ll see about that.”

Agreste shook his head like it was _endearing_ and sat down next to her. Alya’s jaw clenched and she turned her head away.

The room fell silent, and Alya heard a slow, slightly muffled wheeze. Marinette was very discreetly crying, her head ducked into her chest. Alya bit her lip and eyed the box of tissues set atop the front desk.

The girl didn’t look up, but Alya sat next to her and pulled out a few tissues to press into her tear-dampened hands. Marinette hiccoughed and crumpled them in her fists, before shakily unfurling them to fold them into squares and press them against her face.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Alya whispered as quietly as she could. She considered putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder, but she doubted she’d appreciate it.

The girl shook her head, and Alya couldn’t tell if it was “no, I’m not okay” or “no, don’t worry about it”. Probably the former.

Alya let out a breath and shifted over a seat to give the girl some space, and set the box of tissues between them. Her eyes drifted to Bourgeois and Agreste. The former was on her phone, while the latter had gotten up and was reading the flyers pinned to a board. Her teeth grinded together and she pulled out her own phone.

So, the guy was Adrien Agreste, son to the fashion designer Gabriel Agreste and the actress/model Emilie Lenord. The kid was a model himself, apparently. No wonder he looked so snazzy and dressed up. It made sense now, though, just another rich kid. No wonder he and Bourgeois were friends.

The tissue box made a noise as Marinette pulled out another piece. Alya forced herself not to stare, but through her peripheral she could see the girl’s shoulders were still tense.

It had sounded like she and Bourgeois went to the same school. Poor girl, she probably knew all about her nonsense.

The secretary picked up a phone call. Alya turned, but the woman’s eyes were on the screen.

“All right, I understand,” she said, and hung up. “Alya Césaire.”

Alya stood. Bourgeois and Agreste stared. Marinette still had her head down.

“The vice principal will see you,” she said. “Down the hall, first one on the right.”

Bourgeois was on her feet in an instant, but Alya sped into the directed corridor and fled the yelling girl.

 

“Are you kidding?” Alix dropped her spoon into the cafeteria soup. It splattered onto the table, but the girl paid it no mind. “So they’re just not gonna do anything about it?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said,” Alya’s clenched jaw was making her teeth hurt. “It’s better than Marinette being suspended but I can’t believe Bourgeois and Raincomprix just got away like that!”

“There’s not a lot the mayor can do against the school,” Mylène said awkwardly. “But even before he was mayor he was still a rich and influential guy.”

“Is this normal in Paris?” Alya asked.

“No way,” Alix said, “this is a Bourgeois problem. I heard in Philosophy that Bourgeois, Raincomprix, and Dupain-Cheng all went to the same collège, Mireille Best.”

“Wait,” Juleka’s eyes went wide, “Mireille Best, as in—”

“Yeah,” Alix nodded. “That one.”

Alya blinked, her head swivelling.

“Wait, what’s Mireille Best?” she asked.

“One of the teachers there got arrested for… Oh!” Mylène cut herself off and pulled out her phone. “Oh, I’m so stupid, I can’t believe I didn’t realise it sooner.”

“Realise what?”

“I was thinking all along that Dupain-Cheng sounded like a familiar name to me,” the girl said. “It’s because— yes, I’m right! Marinette is the daughter of Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng.”

“Who?” Alya asked, as the other girls lit up in recognition.

“That’s her?” Alix asked. “Jeez, you’d think she’d be a lot more popular.”

“They run like, _the_ most popular bakery in Paris,” Mylène explained, handing over her phone. “My father’s troupe has to fight to book them to cater in their performances and the place is packed all the time.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they cater for events in the Louvre, too,” Alix said. “Jeez, no wonder Bourgeois couldn’t get her suspended. Her parents are bakers, yeah, but they’ve got a lot of money backing them too.”

“Is everyone at this school related to a famous person?” Alya asked quizzically. “Agreste’s a model, Bourgeois’ the mayor’s daughter, Marinette’s the heir to some massive bakery, your father works in a troupe—”

“I don’t know how it was in Toulouse,” Mylène said gently, “but this arrondissement is very…”

“Comfortable,” Alix finished. “My brother and father are historical researchers at the Louvre. What do your parents do?”

“Uh… My dad works as a zookeeper at the Jardin, and my mother is the head chef of— Oh, I see.” Alya’s brows furrowed. “Paris is just… a lot.”

“I wouldn’t say everyone is famous here,” Juleka mumbled. “But Francoise Dupont is hard to get into for a reason.”

“That’s insane,” Alya said. “So Marinette is the daughter of some celebrity bakers, how on earth did Bourgeois get away with bullying her? She seems like a really nice person. I think.”

A shadow fell over the table and the girls looked up. A guy with headphones looped around his neck stared down at them with a neutral expression on his face.

“You know, it’s really rude to gossip about people. Leave Dupain-Cheng alone.”

“We weren’t gossiping,” Alya said instinctively.

The boy clearly didn’t believe her. “Just knock it off already, the entire cafeteria can hear you.”

“Who are you?” Alix asked. “Hang on, you’re in our homeroom, aren’t you? Nino, was it?”

He was, Alya realised, he was the other kid besides Marinette who’d ignored Bourgeois’ initial outburst about the seats. And for a reason.

“You went to school with them,” she said, “didn’t you?”

Nino was taken aback, and Alya knew she’d guessed correctly. He turned his head away. “It doesn’t matter, just don’t make things worse than it already is.”

“What did Chloé mean by Marinette being cursed?” Alya asked.

“Listen, Césaire, all of you,” the boy stared at them. “Leave Marinette alone. It’s none of your business.”

“Hey!”

The boy left their table without a second glance. Alya sat back down and stared at his parting back.

“We’ve got to get him to tell us,” Alya said, turning back to the table.

“I don’t know, maybe we are being rude prying about it,” Juleka murmured.

“All right, then I’ll just ask Marinette the next time I see her,” Alya said. “I’m not gonna spread rumours or anything, I’m genuinely curious. She seems like a really nice person. I don’t get why Bourgeois would target her.”

“Maybe she’s just a bitch?” Alix said. Rose whimpered and leaned into Juleka. “Sorry.”

“She is, though,” Mylène muttered. Alya agreed.

“So maybe it’s just me being out of the loop, but, what’s with that Agreste guy?” she prompted.

“I think he’s some sort of like, part-time movie star?” Alix shrugged.

“No, that’s Felix,” Mylène corrected. “He’s Adrien’s cousin or something. Adrien’s like, Instagram famous and he models for the Gabriel brand and a bunch of other things. You’ll see his face a lot on advertisements around Paris, but I don’t think anyone really knows about him.”

“He’s a total spineless prick,” Alya scowled. “You should have seen him in the office. Bourgeois was yelling about getting Marinette expelled or else she’d get daddy to pull funding from the school, and the guy just stood there and smiled and said something about how they couldn’t go to school together if it got closed down. He just bothers me.”

“Don’t let his fans hear you say that,” Rose warned. “He’s getting a lot of attention.”

“I can imagine,” Alya rolled her eyes. “I came here to study journalism, not witness it first-hand.”

“You’re in the specialist program, then?” Mylène’s eyes lit up.

The topic shifted away from the drama, and Alya’s shoulders relaxed as she got to know more of her new friend group. They all seemed very sweet and kind, and they seemed to like her too. So it’d be a bit more dramatic attending Francoise Dupont than she first expected, but it would be okay, she thought.

 

The designers and employees dove out of the way as high heels screeched the way to Gabriel Agreste’s personal office. Emilie threw open the grand doors and they slammed behind her. Her husband was sitting on the couch rather than at his desk, his head bowed and his hands covering his face, his glasses discarded on the coffee table. He didn’t acknowledge her entrance.

“Gabriel! Are you all right?”

Emilie sat down beside him and pulled at his arm. His hand fell away, and green eyes met a glowing purple. She gasped and clutched at his face.

“I’m fine,” Gabriel said quietly, and Emilie could barely make out the ordinary blue of his irises. “It’s the Butterfly Miraculous. Someone has activated it.”

“What? No, it can’t be. I didn’t hear anything about that.”

Gabriel gritted his teeth and gave a pained breath. Emilie grasped his hand and squeezed.

“Someone—is claiming the Butterfly and the Lineage is warning me. I can feel them in my mind. They’re upset.”

“Are we in danger? Where are they?”

“Close,” Gabriel mustered, “definitely close enough to be in Paris. It wouldn’t be this strong otherwise. I don’t know what they want, they’re very angry, but they’re going to use the Miraculous and I can’t—”

Glowing eyes faded back into blue, and Gabriel slumped forward into his wife’s arms, his breaths laboured.

“Gabriel?”

The man’s eyes squeezed shut and he reached for Emilie’s shoulders.

“The Miraculous is… theirs. I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop them.”

Emilie’s eyes hardened. She leaned Gabriel back against the couch and rose to her feet. She reached for her bag and crossed the room to set it on top of the desk. She pulled out her phone and hit speed dial, then crouched behind the desk and pried at something with her free hand.

“Nathalie, head back to the mansion and call Pierre. Make sure Adrien doesn’t return to his afternoon classes. If he asks, Gabriel is stuck at the office and I’m at a meeting. Thank you.”

Gabriel straightened on the couch and rubbed at his eyes. The headache was already receding. On the other side of the room, Emilie tossed the phone back into her purse and pulled open a secret compartment in Gabriel’s desk.

“You’re going to tell Michel?” he murmured, picking up his glasses.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she said, standing with a different phone in her hand. She shut the compartment with her knee. “But I made a promise.”

“You told me you wouldn’t go back to your family’s business,” he said quietly, getting to his feet. The floor wavered, but he stood.

“I did,” Emilie replied, pocketing the secret phone and picking up her purse. “And I wasn’t lying about that. I’m not going back. But, if they had the Butterfly Miraculous, Nathalie would have told me, would have told you. I have to warn them.”

She crossed the room to touch Gabriel’s face with her free hand. He frowned at her, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” she repeated, caressing his cheek. “Adrien is going to be safe at home, and I’m going to figure out what’s going on. In the meanwhile, you stay here. I’ll have Carter watch over you.”

She gave him a quick kiss, then pulled away and started for the door.

“So that’s just how this is going to be again?” he called out after her, something hard in his voice.

Emilie stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned to face him again. Remorse flashed over her face, before her mouth settled into a thin, determined line.

“‘We exist to protect those who cannot protect themselves’,” she said. “Whoever has the Butterfly now, it’s not someone we know, and I don’t trust any government to handle this properly. I won’t take any chances, if it’s within or near Paris. Excuse me.”

The door shut.

 

There was a boom from elsewhere in the building, and Alya felt the floor beneath her tremble. Everyone began to murmur and people stood up from their seats. One of the cafeteria workers poked their head out from the back room. A moment later, the fire alarm went off.

“Anyone know the evacuation procedure?” Alya asked weakly, as they rushed to gather their bags and file out of the doors.

“What’s going on?” Rose and Juleka clung to each other.

“No idea,” Alix said. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

There were teachers shouting in hallways, directing students to the emergency exits. They ignored any questions and simply repeated the directions. Alya found Rose and Mylène clinging to either side of her, forming a human chain with Alix at the front and Juleka at the end.

The students spilled out into the back grounds of the school, the teacher ordering them further away from the building. Alya peered around, but she couldn’t see anything immediately alarming.

“Was it a prank?” Alix asked, for lack of anything to say.

Alya pulled out her phone and took a Snapchat of the assembled crowd. As she made to add a puzzled caption, an inhuman roar sounded. She looked up.

“Y’all heard that, right?”

They had, the assembled students were murmuring and gasping. Alya sent the loop to her friends and switched to Twitter. It was way too soon for any news to come out, but there had to be _something_ going on.

The ground beneath their feet shuddered and Alya felt her legs grow weak.

This wasn’t normal.

 

There was a supervillain in Paris. A giant, hulking, animated stone statue that was rampaging around the city, throwing cars and wreaking havoc. The military had been called in, but every blast against the rock only made it grow bigger and roar louder. The mayor had made an address stating the situation was being handled as best as possible, but the reassurance fell flat.

Magic was real, and whatever the statue was, it wasn’t going to go away without a fight.

Alya sent her updates to her friends in Toulouse, and stared quietly at the newsreel. Her parents were still picking up her younger sisters from school.

There was no doubt about it, the statue had originated from Francoise Dupont. The news played aerial footage of the school’s destroyed wall, where the stone giant had burst through Principal Damocles’ office and out onto the street. The authorities were tracking it across Paris, but no further movements were to be made. The giant was already big enough to take up four street lanes.

Alya had always imagined how she’d react if magic were real. She’d want to be the first person to spread the news, to know everything about it and be the source of information. Now, however, primal instincts set in, and fear kept her rooted in place. This was no meagre matter.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, and let her eyes drift away from the television. She rest her head on her chin, and closed her eyes.

They sprang back open.

There, right on the coffee table, was a black hexagonal box, decorated in red sigils Alya didn’t recognise. She unfolded her legs and leaned over to pick it up with trembling hands.

She pried it open, and got a glimpse of a pair of earrings, before a pink light burst from the box.

 

“You have the wrong person,” Nino said flatly. “I don’t want any part in this.”

“Seriously?!” the tiny black creature moaned. “Not even a scream? What’s the point in getting assigned a human if you’re not even gonna react to this?”

“I don’t know what you are, but I’ve read enough fiction to know a call to adventure when I see one,” he replied in a deliberate monotone. “I’m not a chosen one, I don’t want to get involved in fighting that monster thing, I just want to sit back and not die.”

“Tough,” the creature crossed his arms. “But whatever, I’m Plagg, kwami of the Miraculous of Decay, also known as the Cat Miraculous, and you are the—”

“The only one who can save Paris,” Nino interrupted. “I know the whole spiel and I’m telling you I don’t want to get involved.”

“Ugh, I take it back, you’re exactly like the old guard, just… human and all,” Plagg waved his appendages dismissively. “Fine! Leave your partner all on their own then.”

“Or you can give this thing to someone who actually wants to be a… whatever it is this is,” Nino frowned. “I’m not going to do it.”

The creature sighed. “Why did I get this one? Look, Nino, that stone giant out there isn’t some random assortments of rocks given life, that’s an actual human being.”

“What? Inside of it?”

“Yeah,” the creature nodded. “Some poor soul out there has been corrupted by someone’s magic, and there’s no human way to stop them unless the wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous purifies the corruption and turns the person back into a human.”

“And the reason you chose someone with the cat ring is…”

“It’s a long story but basically you need both of the Miraculous active to be most efficient,” Plagg shrugged. “I can explain later.”

“Yeah, re-explain,” Nino retorted, closing the box and holding it out to the creature. “I told you I’m not taking it.”

“Really? Come on, kid, there are people’s lives at stake right now! Some random human out there is transformed into a giant monster and you’re gonna just sit here and not do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do, anyway?” Nino demanded. “I’m just some guy who likes music! I don’t have any special talents for fighting a giant rock monster.”

“Duh! That’s why you have a Miraculous,” Plagg crossed his limbs. “Look kid, I hate to be so disrespectful when we’ve just met, but when someone’s in trouble and you have the power to save them, you normally go and save them!”

“I—” Nino’s jaw clamped shut and he lowered his arm. He turned away and breathed. “I know that.”

“Then why aren’t you helping?” Plagg prompted. “Why aren’t you doing the right thing?”

Nino’s grip tightened on the box. The wooden edges dug into his palms.

“I tried to help once, and I just made things worse. I don’t want to do that again,” he murmured.

“Kid, there’s always a chance of things not turning out the way you expect them to, but if you sit back and do nothing, then things will _always_ be worse than if you’d stepped in the first time. Yeah, you might screw up helping, but you can make amends for that. You can’t make amends for being a bystander by continuing to sit yourself out.”

Plagg floated around to face Nino. The boy’s teeth were gritted tightly together, his head bowed.

“The man who chose you made a lot of mistakes himself,” Plagg said. “But I don’t think choosing you is one of them.”

Nino took a deep breath, and met green eyes.

“Just this once,” he said. “And then we’ll see.”

Plagg grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

 

“Alya, I promise I will answer all of your questions after the akuma is dealt with,” Tikki said with a nervous smile.

“Right,” Alya clapped her hands together, her eyes still distinctly wide. “Right. I’m a superheroine. This is real. I was chosen. Wait, why was I chosen?”

“Are you stalling, Alya?” The kwami tilted her head.

“Me? No! I’m super ready to become a superheroine and save Paris, just as soon as I—” Alya’s smile fell. “This isn’t a mistake, right? You definitely chose me?”

“I didn’t choose you, exactly,” Tikki said idly. “But you were chosen. You’re brave and you always seek to do the right thing and you’re willing to stand up for what’s right, even if it puts you in danger. I have faith in you and your ability, Alya.”

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you to say, but now I feel like you might think a bit _too_ highly of me,” Alya chuckled awkwardly. “I’m not really superhero material. I mean I wanna be a journalist and that’s kind of like, the exact opposite, right? Actually wait, no, that’s actually really ironic then, because y’know, Clark Kent and Peter Parker. Well you don’t know, because you’re a mystical millennia old magical creature concept of Life, but I’m—rambling again aren’t I?”

“It’s okay to feel nervous, Alya,” Tikki said soothingly. “You’re not the first wielder to feel that way. Trust me, I know. But if you linger for too long, you can do harm with your inaction as well.”

“Okay, okay,” Alya shook her hands out for a moment. “Okay, it’s time to get serious. I gotta transform with these,” she picked up the box containing the earrings, “get to that stone monster, figure out where its hiding the akumatised object, break that object, and capture the akuma inside, right?”

Tikki nodded.

“Okay!” Alya repeated, putting on the earrings. She hopped in place and then punched the air. “Let’s do this!”

The kwami beamed.

 

Sergeant Roger Raincomprix had seen a lot during his service with the Prefecture Police. Murders, suicides, horrible awful crimes. But this was unlike any other crisis he’d witnessed in his life. The case was handed immediately to the military, but the police were tasked with clearing out civilians. The stone giant was getting worryingly close to the Hotel de Ville, and there was nothing anyone could do but evacuate the area as the monster continued its slow trek across Paris.

He hadn’t gotten a moment to check in with his daughter yet. He’d been told she was accounted for, but it didn’t make him feel any better. The monster had first appeared in the building, who knew what carnage she’d witnessed.

His squad had been sent along to evacuate buildings, and he was the centre of command, checking down which areas had been cleared of civilians and that they’d been funelled to the proper zones. The sun was still high in the sky, and his radio crackled frequently.

No one knew what could be done, the beast had reflected all attacks and it only grew bigger with every strike. He heard rumours of using cement to trap the rock beast, but who knew if it would work?

Roger was in the middle of crossing off another evacuated residence, when something caught his eye. He looked up in time to see someone leap over his head, clearing the entire width of the street before landing on the rooftops on the other side. His hand seized his radio immediately.

“This is Sgt. Raincomprix, I got an unknown person trespassing into the evacuation zone headed towards the Hotel de Ville. They’re—”

The whirring of helicopter blades cut him off, and he looked up at the sky again to see a news team flying above.

“TVi’s helicopter just entered the airspace,” he said in an unintentional deadpan.

“Copy that.”

 

“They’re getting really close to the Hotel de Ville,” Adrien said, an anxiety in his words.

“Would you like to switch the channel?” Nathalie offered.

The boy shook his head, hugging a pillow to his chest as they watched the situation unfold on the news.

“Is Mlle Chloé still not answering her phone?”

“Yeah, I can’t get a hold of her or her dad,” Adrien groaned into the pillow.

“I’m sure she’s safe,” Nathalie said, her voice calm.

“Where are my parents?” he asked quietly. “The city’s under lockdown, they should be home.”

“Traffic has been near impossible to navigate,” Nathalie said softly, stepping around the couch and sitting herself next to her temporary charge. “They’re safe, I promise, and they’ll be back as soon as they’re able to travel.”

“I’m not scared,” Adrien said quietly.

Nathalie rested her hand on his shoulder. The boy leaned into it, then shuffled closer to her and gave her a hug. Nathalie blinked, then returned the gesture.

“Where’s your family?” Adrien asked, looking up at her.

“They’re all safe,” she said.

“That’s good to hear,” the boy said softly.

His head nestled into her shoulder, and Nathalie patted his back reassuringly.

 

Alya knew Paris was (one of) the origins of parkour, but she’d never envisioned herself doing it, and in the city to boot. Or that she’d be doing it dressed in a ladybug-themed costume. Her toes felt like they were barely hitting the rooftops as her yoyo guided her across Paris towards the Hotel de Ville. She was still blocks away when the roof trembled under her and she turned to her left.

The giant lumbered into view. It was as tall as the nearby rooftops, and Alya pressed herself to the ground to remain unnoticed. She stared at its passing back, trying to see where on a stone statue an object could be hidden.

The giant roared and picked up a car, flinging it into the ground. Alya could see its hands were free. No object in there, then.

She frowned, and pulled out her yoyo. All the news footage was shaky and too far away to see. She had to get a better look at the monster. She rose and made to jump off the rooftop and follow it.

“Wait!”

Alya turned faster than she ever had and instinctively brought her fists up for a fight. The other person held their arms up in surrender.

“Oh,” she said, relaxing. “You must be that Cat hero my kwami told me about. It’s nice to meet you.”

The guy put his hands down. He was dressed in a cat-themed costume, and had cat ears sticking out from his short hair. It was kind of cute.

“Nice to meet you too,” he said. “I uh… I haven’t figured out a code name or anything, but like…”

“Yeah, let’s deal with that later,” Alya said. “How about I just call you ‘Chat’?”

“Am I supposed to call you ‘Coccinelle’, then?” the guy gave a smile.

“We’ll work on it,” she said, turning back to the parting monster. “First, I need to get a better look at that thing before we attack it. We can’t strike directly so I’m hoping I can just knock the akumatised object out before it takes us out.”

“I get it,” the guy said, “Let’s go.”

They sprinted across the rooftops together. It was strange to see Paris from such an angle, but even stranger to see the streets empty despite the abandoned cars. They passed the giant without being seen and cut him off by the Hotel de Ville.

“There!”

Yes, they could see it now. In the centre of the stone statue’s shoulders, right where a collarbone would be if it were human, was a glimmering, shiny crystal.

“It looks like it’s embedded into it,” Chat said worriedly. “How are we gonna knock it off without making it grow?”

“It’s fine if it grows, so long as we get that object before it does anything,” Coccinelle said. “Actually, I think the akuma might be the easy part.”

She pointed in the opposite direction of the giant. The military had set up some sort of barricade around the city hall, and were wheeling forward a missile of some sort.

“Okay,” Chat deadpanned. “I think it’ll survive that hit, but what about us?”

“We’re supposed to be invulnerable in this state, but I kind of don’t want to test that so soon either,” Coccinelle grimaced. “Do you think they’ll believe us if we tell them we’re trying to help?”

“Somehow, I think this is a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ type of situation.”

Coccinelle groaned. “What if we just whack that gem off before it catches us?”

“Shall we pull straws?”

“I’ll do it,” she said, “I’m the one who has to purify it.”

“Are you sure?” Chat regarded her. “It’s better if I do, that way if it grabs me, I can still use Cata— my special power to break it.”

She pressed her lips together. The giant was getting closer to the open area by the city hall. Any further and they’d lose the ability to jump off the rooftops right at it.

“How about we both go from each side, it’ll be even more of a surprise,” she said, winding back her yoyo. “As soon as it crosses into the city hall grounds, just whack at the gem.”

“I got you, good luck,” Chat gave a quick salute, and sprinted for the end of the line of buildings.

Coccinelle sucked in a breath and tossed herself over the street.

All right, here goes nothing.

 

“Hm, what is it?”

Gloved hands picked up a tablet.

“Oh? That’s odd.”

Blue eyes gleamed behind a purple mask.

“This might be fun after all…”

 

“We’re following the monster to the Hotel de Ville, as you can see. It’s uncertain if this creature is intentionally targeting the city hall or if— wait, who’s that?”

The camera pulled out on the shot. Racing along the rooftops adjacent to the street were two figures, one in red and one in black. The two sped across the buildings unnaturally fast, and reached the end of the street together. Then, just as the stone monster crossed into the city hall grounds, they leapt off the roofs towards the monster, and landed out of sight.

“Oh my— It appears someone is intercepting the monster!”

The monster roared and flailed, but the two individuals couldn’t be seen from the camera angle. The reporter yelled at the pilot to fly to the front side of the monster.

Two bodies flew off the monster and back into view, landing on their feet in the vacant lot. The camera zoomed in to see the one in black throw something onto the ground. Something dark floated out of it, and the one in red launched something at the flying object. The yoyo zipped back into their hands, and the person in red once again released the thing she had captured: a white butterfly.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The mysterious person in red threw the yoyo into the air. It burst into streams of red and pink light, coursing down the street and resetting the crushed and abandoned cars. The news reporter fell silent as the camera caught the magical light retracing the path of destruction from the stone monster, before it finally swung back to the scene.

The monster collapsed to its feet, and a purple and black miasma bubbled around it and dissipated to reveal a lone human girl.

Blue eyes opened, and Chloé Bourgeois’ head snapped upwards.

 

“What am I doing here?”

“Oh my god,” Coccinelle didn’t mean to say. “I…”

“Holy shit.” Chat said aloud. He held up a hand to his new partner. “Good job?”

Coccinelle answered the high-five, but both their eyes were fixated on the true identity of the stone monster.

“Freeze!” a voice said over a loudspeaker. The two jumped and turned around to see a squad of soldiers advancing upon them.

“Do we have to?” Chat asked weakly.

“I’m gonna say ‘no’,” Coccinelle said, grabbing him by the arm and launching her yoyo into the air.

 

“Although we do not yet know the identities of the mysterious figures, Mayor Bourgeois is hailing them as Paris’ heroes for saving the life of his daughter, Chloé, who had been transformed into the stone monster. Reports say that the fifteen-year-old girl has no recollection of the incident, nor what happened prior to her transformation.”

“Alya, are you all right?”

The girl looked away from the television and back to her family. There had been little conversation for tonight’s dinner. She blinked and went back to prodding at her untouched meal.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said.

“Chloé was that girl who tried to make you give up your seat, wasn’t she?” her mother asked.

“Yep,” Alya replied.

“Well, it’s been a wild day for everyone,” her father said. “But we’ll be okay, we have superheroes to save us, apparently.”

“Otis… We don’t even know their names. Bourgeois is only calling them heroes because they saved his daughter.”

“I got the feeling he didn’t even know it was his daughter,” her father said. “Bourgeois isn’t exactly a smart man, if his daughter had been involved, you’d be able to tell.”

“Let’s talk about something else,” Alya said. “Etta, Ella, how was your first day of school?”

“Jean poured glue on Sophie’s head!” Etta said cheerfully.

“And Mlle Garcia got super mad about it!”

Alya grimaced, but managed a small smile as her parents reminded her sisters why it was wrong. Her eyes drifted back to the television. They’d taken a break for the weather.

 

“How are you feeling, sir?” Nathalie asked, stepping into the room. Gabriel was sitting at his office desk, a laptop before him, surrounded by dossiers.

“What does Michel want?” he asked, not looking up from his work.

“You should be resting,” she said severely. “Mme Emilie gave me full permission to ‘kick your ass’ if you overexerted yourself.”

“I see,” he said drily. “I feel perfectly fine now, thank you.”

“Yes, suspiciously so,” Nathalie stopped at his desk. “Michel wants to know if you can still feel anything.”

“I can’t,” he said bluntly, finally looking up from his laptop. “Someone else has activated the Miraculous and taken full ownership of it. As far as the Lineage is concerned, the direct line to Butterfly is extinct and all surviving relatives have failed to challenge this new wielder’s claim—I have lost my connection to it.”

“I see,” Nathalie frowned. “What does that mean for us?”

“What it means for _you_ ,” Gabriel emphasised tersely, “is that you needn’t bother me anymore. I don’t know who the new wielder is, and as it stands I refuse to be involved with any of this. Someone has sent out the Ladybug and Cat, and the Butterfly’s wielder is unknown, meaning your precious Order aren’t the only ones who know about the Miraculous after all. This is your problem now, not mine.”

His eyes returned to the laptop.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Nathalie stared at him silently. He didn’t look up. Heels clicked away at the floor until she made it to the door of the office, then turned back.

“I’d be careful, Agreste,” she warned. “Emilie can only do so much to protect you. Your power and wealth means nothing to us.”

The door closed, and after a few moments, Gabriel closed the laptop and took off his glasses.

He sighed, and stood from his desk. He crossed the room and swung open an abstract portrait to reveal a safe. He pressed his finger to the scanner, and the safe unlocked.

Gabriel retrieved a tablet from inside, and closed both doors. He sat back down at his desk.

The tablet screen loaded. He opened the web browser and typed in a name.

M-A-R-I-N-E-T-T-E…

 

Slender hands pulled out a drawer of old school worksheets. They hauled out the stacks of papers and duotangs and set them aside on the desk, until the drawer was completely empty. Then, short, blunt nails pried at the corner, and pulled up the bottom of the surface to reveal a hidden compartment.

The girl pulled out a simple, black box the size of a pack of paper and walked to her desk, sitting down in the chair and pushing her computer keyboard aside to make room.

A purple creature floated to her side.

“How do you feel?” the kwami of Agency asked. “Are you hurt?”

“I told you I’m fine, Nooroo,” Marinette looked up from the box and smiled at her companion. “Thank you for worrying, but I really am fine. Can’t you feel it?”

“I can, but I’m still concerned about you,” Nooroo’s antennae drooped. He floated closer and nuzzled at her forehead. The girl smiled. “I know you weren’t expecting to be challenged.”

“It’s good,” she said, petting his wings. “The Ladybug and the Cat are helping me, to be honest. See how they fixed all of Stoneheart’s damage? I only wanted to harm Chloé, not innocent civilians, and they’re keeping everything in check for me.”

“Yes, but…” Nooroo pulled back and frowned.

“But what?” Marinette asked. Her eyes shone. “You don’t approve of me doing this again.”

Nooroo gave a sigh. “You know how it is, Marinette, I could never stop you from using my power. You own my Miraculous, and so you are my ma—”

“Don’t, don’t call me that,” Marinette shut her eyes. “I don’t want to be your owner or your master or whatever this is ‘supposed’ to be. I want to be your friend and your equal. And that means if me doing this is hurting you, then I’ll stop. I promise.”

“Marinette, you’re not hurting me, my powers are meant to be used. It’s only that… This magic you’re using to circumvent the normal process, is… very dangerous. The Butterfly Miraculous is meant to aid others, to give them powers to save themselves and save others in a time of crisis.”

“I can’t trust other people,” Marinette said bluntly, her eyes opening to fixate on the black box. “Even if I know their emotions I cannot trust them to do what is right. But I know myself, and I know what’s right and wrong, and I won’t be mislead by anyone else. Authority, adults, everyone else has failed to protect the innocent and failed to persecute the guilty, so I will do it in their stead. Is that so wrong?”

Nooroo’s brows pinched together.

“I would never denounce you—”

“Then I’m ordering you to tell me the truth: do you think I’m in the wrong here?”

The kwami settled on top of the black box and fell quiet. Marinette turned to the rest of her bedroom.

Atop every surface, white butterflies rested peacefully, watching their exchange in apparent silence.

“What do you guys think?” she asked quietly. “Am I the villain?”

_Human morality is complicated._

_No two sides of a war believe they are fighting for evil._

_Do no harm to innocents._

“I won’t, I’ll do better next time,” she said. “I’ll let Paris know I mean them no harm, if they themselves mean no harm. If Nooroo is okay with this.”

She turned back to the kwami. Purple met blue.

“I told you before,” he said softly, rising to her eye level, “the Miraculous are meant to protect humanity. We will protect you, and you will protect everyone else.”

Marinette cupped him in her hands, and smiled.

“Thank you, Nooroo, all of you,” her eyes softened. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe us anything, Marinette,” Nooroo reminded, and the butterflies echoed him. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”

“Yeah… I don’t.” Blue eyes closed. “I don’t.”

_We have failed to protect you before._

_We will not fail you again._

Tears welled, and Marinette turned to face the flock of butterflies.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

 

Coccinelle’s powers really were incredible, Alya determined. The school looked just as it had been before the akuma broke through it. She wondered if the insurance companies were grateful for the Miraculous cleaning up the mess, or if they’d just made everything that much more complicated.

She frowned as she rounded to the front of the school. People were crowding around the doors, holding their phones over each other’s heads. She spotted Mylène and Juleka chatting a few steps away from the mass of students, and jogged over to them.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The Butterfly left a message here, too,” Juleka mumbled. Alya blinked.

“The Butterfly? Too?”

“You haven’t heard yet?” Mylène asked, pulling out her phone. “The Butterfly is the name of the supervillain who transformed Chloé yesterday. He’s left messages all around Paris. See?”

Alya took the phone and scrolled through the Twitter feed. Pictures from various locations of Paris displayed messages written in a vibrant, unnatural dark purple. The painting material almost seemed familiar…

“‘Be kind, or the Butterfly will find you’, ‘the Butterfly will turn you into the monster you truly are’, ‘the Butterfly will deliver justice’, ‘there is nothing to fear if you have no one to harm’? This sounds like some sort of edgy joke to me.”

Alya handed the phone back. Mylène and Juleka gave shrugs.

“What’d he say here then?”

“That’s the craziest part,” Mylène said, taking Alya’s hand and guiding her into the crowd. “All the other messages basically repeat all over Paris, but someone said this one is unique.”

They made it to the message, and up close and in person, Alya finally understood why the ‘paint’ seemed so familiar. It reminded her of the miasmic bubbles that had formed around Chloé during her detransformation.

Glimmering in the sunlight, the letters reflected in black and purple, spelling out:

BEWARE THE GIRL WITH THE HEART OF STONE.

“Well, what the hell does that mean?” Alya asked. “‘Heart of stone’… What, is it referring to Chloé?”

“No one knows,” Juleka replied.

“All right, that’s enough!”

Principal Damocles stepped into view, as two staff members lugged over a giant tarp and started to pile it over the graffitti.

“Nothing to see here, please get ready for classes, all of you!”

Alya frowned as the crowd begrudgingly dispersed, and quickly approached the principal.

“M. Damocles,” she started, “you were the first person to see the akuma, weren’t you? It broke through your office.”

The principal stammered for a moment, then said, “I would prefer not to talk about it, Mademoiselle. You should head along for your classes.”

“No, I uh,” Alya began, “I’m starting up a blog documenting the whole magical thing, about the superheroes, the supervillain, and I really want to get some eyewitness accounts about it. You see, journalism is a passion of mine and the news hasn’t really clarified much about it. Class doesn’t start for another half hour and it would mean the world to me if you could help—”

Damocles faltered slightly at her overly eager investigative student shtick.

“I, well… I already told the authorities what I know, so I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

Alya beamed and swung her backpack around to pull out a notepad and paper. “Thank you so very much, Monsieur, please tell me everything that happened!”

“Well, you see… I was in my office, waiting for a student to come by, when…”

 

It was an unspoken rule that you didn’t change seats after the first day, unless the teacher forcibly reassigned you. Very clearly, that was a rule Adrien Agreste had yet to learn, for when Marinette walked into class, she found the boy sitting in the seat next to hers.

Damn it, she was being spoiled by the short distance between her new school and her house. If she’d left the house just five minutes sooner...

 _You could ask him to move_ , the liaisons murmured.

She could, she thought, as she walked up the aisle, but she’d spent years with Chloé’s so-called friends, and she knew exactly how someone like Agreste would react.

Marinette sat herself at Alya’s table instead. The girl was still in the courtyard, talking with Damocles about yesterday’s attack. Marinette had barely opened her backpack when Agreste swung his legs into the aisle and faced her.

“Hey, I uh… I wanted to sit with you,” he said.

She looked up from her bag and stared at him. The boy seemed earnest, and that was what worried her.

“I’m not like, saving this table for Chloé or anything,” he continued, after she didn’t answer. “I wanted to sit with you, is all. I’m really sorry about yesterday, I know Chloé can be a bit much, but…”

Marinette knew his type well. The sheltered rich kid, constantly catered to, and unaware of social norms, the kind of kid who only made friends with people his parents liked, and so never had to figure out deeper intricacies of relationships.

She knew how to make friends, she just didn’t want to. But, the last thing she wanted was to be the girl who rejected the golden boy. She already had enough to deal with regarding Chloé and Sabrina.

“I like the window seat,” Marinette said quietly, standing and picking up her bag.

Agreste’s eyes lit up, and he stepped out into the aisle to let her pass. They sat back down, and Marinette didn’t need her Miraculous to tell her the boy was positively delighted.

_We were right, he smells familiar…_

Marinette busied herself with unpacking her backpack. The liaisons were being cryptic again. Nooroo would have to explain it to her.

“Can I, um… can I call you Marinette?”

“I don’t mind if you do,” she replied nonchalantly, setting her backpack by her feet and opening her notebook. “Do you mind if I call you Adrien, then?”

Adrien’s smile was blinding, even from her peripheral. She met his eyes. Adrien averted his, embarrassed.

“So, uh, yesterday…” The boy was making an effort. “I’ve never been to school before, well not like, school with other students, but I’m assuming we don’t usually get interrupted by magical monsters, right?”

Despite his delivery, Marinette couldn’t help but smile. Something warm bubbled in her chest, but she forced herself to calm down. She didn’t make friends. She didn’t need them. She was going to be polite, was all.

(Adrien only wanted to be a friend. Just a friend. Not—)

“Marinette?”

She blinked and turned her head away. She’d spaced out, how long had she been staring at him?

“Sorry, I’m really tired,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “What were you saying?”

Adrien’s brows furrowed. He looked behind him quickly, then back to her.

“You looked really… frightened, for a moment there,” he whispered. “Are you okay?” His eyes shone with false recognition. “Oh man, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be joking about Chloé and what happened, is that it? Too soon?”

“No, no, I mean,” her hands flailed. Shit, they were just two isolated socially inept morons pretending they weren’t. “I don’t mind it, I’m fine, I just blanked out for a moment. I actually found your line kinda funny. Sorry. Because you know, you’re friends with Chloé and everything so it’s, rude, I guess? For me? To laugh at that?”

The butterflies were laughing at her. She and Adrien exchanged matching nervous looks, and finally burst into abashed smiles together. Adrien covered his giggle.

“That’s great,” he said, his grin a lot more natural now. “I’m sorry, I don’t get to spend a lot of time with people my age, but I want to learn. Can we try again?”

He offered his hand. Marinette couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. How formal of him.

“I…”

Don’t make friends, have never been able to keep my friends, won’t ever trust you, you’re wasting your time.

“...am willing to try,” she said at last.

Their hands clasped, and they shook on it.

 

Alya slid into her seat on the left side of the centre table, and leaned back over to Alix and Mylène’s desk.

“When did that happen?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the end of their row.

Marinette and Adrien were chatting quietly together, but seemed very engaged in their conversation. Marinette looked very sweet, now that Alya saw her without tears. The girl was dressed in a very cute autumn dress, and had her hair tied back with an elegant white ribbon. She looked really pretty.

“No idea,” Alix said, “I’m not looking forward to Bourgeois’ reaction, though.”

“Is she even coming to school today?” Alya asked, looking around the class. “I wouldn’t if I just got turned into a rock monster.”

Alix’s eyes flickered over Alya’s shoulder and she turned to see Nino coming up the other side of the aisle. He stopped by her desk.

“Mind if I sit here?” the boy asked curtly.

Alya blinked, staring at him. He looked a little too serious for his question. Her eyes fell behind him to Marinette, still talking with Adrien. She looked back at Nino, and his lips thinned in recognition.

“No problem,” she said, pulling her backpack off the seat and under the desk.

“Thanks,” he said, filling the empty space.

She tossed Alix a glance and the girl shrugged.

“So, uh,” Alya’s voice dropped. “What’s going on with you and…”

“Nothing,” Nino muttered, opening his backpack on the seat between them so his words wouldn’t carry. “I’ve just known her for years. We’re not friends or anything, but forgive me if I’m not super trusting of anyone who’s Chloé’s childhood friend.”

“Aww, that’s kinda sweet of you,” Alya said.

Nino looked up to reply.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing with Adrien?”

Alya audibly clicked her tongue as Chloé stormed up the aisle between Adrien and Nino. The smile from talking with Adrien fell from Marinette’s face, and Adrien’s own fell into a frown.

“Chloé,” he started.

“I see how it is,” Chloé spat at Marinette. Adrien rose from his seat and held his arms placatingly, putting himself between the two girls. “You just always have to ruin everything, don’t you, Marinette?”

“Calm down, Bourgeois,” Marinette said flatly.

“Or what, you’ll steal more of my friends?”

“Marinette hasn’t stolen anyone,” Adrien tried to interrupt, but Chloé talked over him.

“Stay out of this, Adrien, this isn’t about you.”

“It’s not?” Alya heard Alix deadpan behind her, and almost snorted.

“I don’t understand why you hate Marinette so much,” Adrien said, leaning over the table to block Marinette from Chloé’s line of vision. The blonde finally focused on him. “She seems like a good person, you should leave her alone.”

“Oh of _course_ she seems like a good person to you,” Chloé snarled. “You’re too kind and trusting for your own good, Adrien, Marinette is a freak and she’s fooling everyone here. You don’t know her the way I do.”

“Stop calling her a ‘freak’.”

It took Alya a moment to process who’d spoken. Eyes turned to her table, and she finally registered Nino. His shoulders were shaking with anger, as he stared Chloé down, and he stood up to meet her level.

“Marinette isn’t a freak,” he reiterated clearly. “She’s nicer than you will ever be, Chloé. Leave her alone already.”

Chloé recovered easily and gave a mocking coo.

“Aww, look at that, Marinette, your knight in shining armour,” she turned back to Nino. “I thought you of all people would know to stay out of my way, Lahiffe.”

“You got away with bullying Marinette in collège,” Nino said. His words wavered, and his clenched fists trembled, but he didn’t back down. “But it ends here. If you’re going to keep messing with Marinette over some stupid complex of yours, then you’ll have to go through me first.”

He crossed the aisle, and sat himself down on top of Marinette and Adrien’s desk. The two stared at the boy, awe in Adrien’s eyes, and faint surprise in Marinette’s.

Alya knew when a fight was over, and Chloé must have known it too, for she leaned in closely to Nino, and poked her finger into his chest.

“You better watch yourself, Lahiffe,” she snarled, and turned on her heel down the steps.

“You watch yourself, Bourgeois—after all, the Butterfly’s already gotten you once for not being kind, right?”

The students gasped and a few ‘oooh’ed at Alya’s one-liner. Chloé threw her bag at Sabrina, sat alone in the front row, and sped out of the classroom. Sabrina looked around at the audience, then set Chloé’s bag down at her table and followed the blonde out.

“Damn, girl!” Alix whooped loudly behind her.

Alya felt a blush burn at her ears. She waited for Agreste or someone to call her out, tell her she’d crossed a line, that she shouldn’t have made light of such a serious incident, but the class chatter resumed, and when she turned back to the group of girls, none of them seemed particularly bothered.

By the neighbouring table, Nino visibly slumped. He was still shaking, but someone rested a calm hand on his shoulder. He turned. Adrien was smiling at him.

“That was really nice of you, um…”

“Nino,” Marinette answered for him, after Nino failed to find his voice. “Nino Lahiffe.”

Nino slid off the table and turned. Marinette stood and gave him a soft smile.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, struggling to maintain eye contact. “You were really brave to stand up to Chloé like that. I owe you one.”

“You really don’t,” Nino said, his own words sounding distant and hazy. He’d just survived a near-death experience with how hard his heart was beating. “It was the right thing to do. I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

Marinette’s smile grew more certain. She leaned over the desk and pulled Nino in for a hug. Nino blinked, taken aback, but didn’t push her away. He didn’t think Marinette to be one for affection.

“You did it eventually,” she murmured into his ear, “and that means just as much.”

They pulled apart and Nino was smiling.

Alya looked up at Adrien, the blond was beaming at his two peers. Her own mouth quirked into a smile. She’d have to reconsider her perspective on him, then, if he was willing to intervene after all.

At last, the bell rang, and Bustier walked into classroom.

The students settled back into their seats. Alya gave Nino a quick smile, and he smiled back. The next table over, Adrien beamed, and Marinette returned a shy look, before turning back to her textbook.

There was something fluttering inside her chest.

Something familiar. Something alive. Something dangerous.

 

“Audrey? It’s Gabriel. Yes, I apologise, I should have considered the time difference. I wanted to ask you about someone you featured a few years ago… What do you know of Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

**Author's Note:**

> Butterfly Marinette just looks like Eris from discordia because I'm lazy, but here's art I commissioned of her~ [barefootfriar](https://barefootfriar.tumblr.com/post/184769282912/a-miraculous-design-rlc-for-emblian), [silverpeel](https://www.deviantart.com/silverpeel/art/CM-Butterfly-Marinette-799823222)


End file.
